The End to Start the Beginning
by JackInTheBox
Summary: Sam Winchester is on a mission to find his older brother Dean, who unbeknown to him has plans of his own of a much darker nature. Meanwhile, the angels in Heaven are busy trying to repair the damage Medatron caused throughout his reign as the new God but Castiel's time is running short with his stolen grace weakening by the second. (My take on how Season 10 pans out).
1. The Begininng of the End

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

But, I guess we never really get a choice on how it ends.

* * *

Crowley reclined in the plush, leather chair drumming nonchalantly on the wood of the arm. The age old rhythm echoed around the room, keeping the silence from asphyxiating the air around them while the two men basked in the void. Crowley's eyes stayed glued to the figure laying in the bed, the figure that had once been Dean Winchester. He looked so peaceful compared to the turmoil that had surrounded him, eyes closed, the first blade clutched close to his chest.  
"Time to wake up, Dean" Crowley cooed, momentarily ceasing his drumming. Dean opened his eyes, what had been once bright green irises had now been consumed by blackness. "That's it, Squirrel" Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed, resting the blade on his thigh as he pushed himself to his feet. Blinking twice, his eyes faded back to their usual green-ish hue. "I think it's time we took another trip downstairs, don't you?"

* * *

Sam was bent double on the sofa, his head resting in his hands and his elbows digging into the fleshy parts of his thighs. Smoke still billowed gently from the bowl of mixed herbs and bones, the smell infesting Sam's nose; still he didn't move. Blood dripped gently down his forearm, starting a slow moving river that cascaded across his skin and began forming a puddle on his jeans. He didn't care too much, as a matter of fact he didn't care at all; the only thing plaguing his mind was the fact that his brother was lying dead in the next room. He wrapped his long fingers around a glass of whiskey, swirling it around in the glass a few times before knocking it back. The liquid burnt his throat as he swallowed hard and resumed his former position. After another whiskey and a fair amount of battling with his inner demons, he pushed himself from the sofa and strode toward the door that hid his brothers corpse. Taking a moment before gently turning the handle.

It had all happened so fast. Seeing Dean slumped against the concrete wall, his face bloodied and bruised. Watching as Medatron plunged the angel blade into his chest, turning it clockwise before pulling it out again, Dean's blood covering the metal. All Sam could do was watch, his lungs burning as his scream ricocheted off the buildings walls, his footfalls sounding like bullets as he pounded toward his brother. The room had shook after that, just before Medatron disappeared, the entire building has shaken and right there Dean had accepted his death. Welcomed it. He spoke of the mark changing him, turning him into someone he didn't want to be but still all Sam could think about was saving him; it was his brother after all. He had died then, in his arms, talking of pride while Sam pleaded with him to stay a while longer. It was all so fast, too fast. Now he was gone.

Sam stepped into the room. The bed his brothers corpse had occupied empty and the demon he had summoned gone.

* * *

Castiel wondered freely over the well kept grass, flowers in full bloom surrounded large hedges that encompassed the garden. A large rock, surrounded by tulips, roses and other various small shrubs lay encompassed by a circular area of greenery. Cas strolled toward it, the sun lingering on his beaten features; wrinkles becoming visible in his never aging skin. This may be the last time he was able to roam free across the heavens, bask among the various wonders the individuals created for themselves. The stolen grace inside him was weakening and quickly. He perched against the rock, using a hand to rub easing circles into his temple temporarily soothing the growing headache. Angels don't get headaches, Cas laughed to himself, well, dying ones do. The red colours of a kite caught his eye as he forced his aching head to the back of his mind to look toward the sky. It ducked and dived on the wind, the string securing it to the ground taut. The eternal Tuesday afternoon drew on and Cas stood silently. He really did like this one the best. Its strange out of all the beautiful minds on Earth, the mind of an autistic man who drown in a bath tub in 1953 would create the most beautiful heaven.

Everything was slowly getting back on track and Cas was determined to have nothing to do with it. He wasn't cut out to be a leader, he knew that now. He had screwed up too many times, killed too many innocent creatures to ever trust himself with that power again. The reapers had started bringing the screaming souls to their resting places, Heaven was back in business. He thought about Tessa, how she had died because she couldn't take the screaming; she died in vain, died because of him. Just another reason he shouldn't be making the decisions around here.

The eternal Tuesday wore on, immortal and perfect. Cas' headache worsened. Although, this place was flawless, it wasn't getting him any closer to finding his grace and he didn't have time to waste. He was going to burn out soon. He needed to find Sam and Dean, surely they would help him, after all that he had done for them, surely they would try and help him. Cas thought a second longer. May be one final stop here in Heaven was needed before his trip to Earth.


	2. Home Sweet Home

The heat here alone is enough to disintegrate flesh and char bone. Even in the coolest hours of the day, the heat is capable of inflicting 5th degree burns on a still screaming soul. No one is left unblemished. The imprisoned linger like disfigured creatures in their cells, anticipating the next day of torture. Their howls alone are enough to evoke madness, making the very blood encapsulated inside veins curdle like off milk. The masochistic nightmare housed millions, each one confined to their very own cell and mutilated daily; each one ripped into miniscule pieces only to be glued back together for the ordeal to begin again the following day. Dean surveyed the narrow pathway with indifference. The corridor stretched out into the void, rows of dingy cells lining either side, broken up briefly by long sections of bare wall. Hung on these extracts of wall where figures, humans with ripped and ragged clothing handcuffed and chained into place. Skin flayed, blood gushing from assorted slices, the captives writhed and hung their heads while the inferno of pain consumed them. Dean watched as the prisoners wailed and shrieked, reaching through the bars grasping fruitlessly at the air for a salvation that would never come. He saw them, but he felt nothing.  
"I thought I'd give you the grand tour" Crowley opened up an arm to display his masterpiece. The smell of rotting flesh would have repulsed Dean, should he have had an ounce of humanity left; instead it evoked a hunger in him he'd never known. A hunger for pain, a hunger for inflicting a pain so great on another it would twist and violate their very souls. Catching the shallow glint in his eyes, Crowley pressed on down the narrow corridor of incarcerated victims.  
"You can feel it, can't you?" Crowley spoke breaking up the screams "Now that you're a demon, you'll get that. The undying hunger, yada, yada, yada"  
"That's something I could get used to" Dean spoke slowly, resting a hand against his stomach. It growled viciously under his touch. His emotional hunger resonating into a physical one, what he wouldn't do to have a burger right now although, he had a feeling that was just old habits coming to haunt him.  
"Now you're one of us, my casa is sue casa. But." Crowley threw an arm across Dean's chest stopping him in his tracks. "There are rules"  
"Yeah" Dean swatted away Crowley's arm "And what would they be?"  
"Firstly, you answer to me and me alone. Second, you do not go anywhere near the cage; we wouldn't want our dear archangels Lucifer and Michael to pay us a rather unwelcome visit now would we? Third, please refrain from killing any of my staff and or hellhounds and finally, do not, under any circumstances go visit your brother up top; that will just cause ramifications I haven't the energy nor the time to deal with" Crowley reeled off his list, his voice growing low and rough the further the list drew on.  
"You know for the scourge of the Earth, you sure do have a lot of rules around here"  
"A, a, a...We're two of the same now Dean. Stop using you and start using we" Crowley cackled. The pair continued walking, turning toward a narrower, darker passageway. The walls where wet to the touch, Dean reached out running the tips of his fingers against the rough brick work; recoiling his hand he squinted into what little light was in the passage. Blood stained his fingers, he shrugged moving further down the alley behind Crowley.  
Crowley twisted himself to look back at Dean "Anyway, what can I say, I run a tight ship" Dean laughed to himself. Crowley reached out into the darkness and appeared to latch onto something, on approaching Dean saw the door. It was old and warn, dark brown in colour and rustic in appearance. "This is one of the gateways upstairs, I keep some of them open so less..." Crowley paused looking for the right word "Gifted...Demons can run errands. I keep this one in particular locked, it leads right into Lawrence but, I thought this was quite fitting. Your mother dying there and all" Crowley pulled a silver key from a chain hung around his neck, he grabbed at Deans wrist opening his hand and placed the key in the palm of it. "And you might just come in handy"  
"Huh" Dean sighed, taking the key and discarding it in the pocket of his heavy duty leather jacket. Crowley turned on his heels, sweeping back down the passage and beckoning Dean to follow with a crooked finger.

It was impossible to tell how far the pair had walked before they reached the end; luckily enough demons don't tire. As the never ending prison for the condemned drew to an end, they found themselves looking over a great room. The corridor of cells opened up into a large chamber, in the centre a large wooden table tilted to a 60 degree angle. From the walls of the chamber, metal chains hung, each one bolted to the wall, stretching to the rack from their varying positions and ending in rather nasty looking meat hooks. Each hook was embedded deep into an unfortunate soul who was tied down, bound by leather cuffs to the rack itself. Its arms where secured above its head and its feet at either side of the bottom of the wooden block, any attempt at getting loose would not only be futile but, end in the almost certain decapitation of the victim. Dean felt an anger bubble inside him, it clouded his vision obscuring reason and proper judgment; Dean wheeled his gaze back to Crowley, fury burning in his eyes.  
"I'm sure you're familiar with the rack, Dean" Crowley snarled. Dean recalled the rack all too well. The place he had spent four months that had stretched to feel more like forty years being tortured. He remembered the days Alistair spent slicing into his flesh with blades as sharp as his wit, the cackling of a man who found arousal in decapitation had haunted his waking dreams. No longer would he be plagued by the screams, demons don't have nightmares. The helpless figure squirmed against the rack, the meat hooks tearing chunks of flesh the more it moved. Throat burning, the figure screeched for redemption; its roaring ignored. Crowley strolled casually toward the figure. The features of a woman becoming slowly visible. She would have been pretty once, beautiful even. Large brown eyes looked up pleading as her lips quivered forcing screams up her trachea. The old Dean would have felt remorse, risked his life in order to save her. The new Dean however had different ideals. Looking down at her bloodied flesh, he felt nothing short of happiness. Admiring the slices in her shoulder where the hook had ripped muscle away from its rightful place, he run a hand over the open wounds. Crowley looked toward his new prodigy, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dean was always ruthless and now he could be ruthless without limit. Dean removed one of the blades dug into the rack, raising it and carving a thin line into the woman's hip. This evoked a scream. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his grip on the blade tightened as he made a second deeper slice next to the first.  
Crowley coughed, pulling Dean's attention away from the woman. "I have a proposition for you".  
"Yeah" Dean growled, his eyes glowing black again as he glared down at Crowley.  
"Work here in Alistair's place, torture souls for me"  
"What's in it for me?"  
"Well it looks as though you are quite enjoying yourself there Dean-y boy" Crowley was right. Dean never felt as alive as he did while causing pain, it was almost electrifying to him. Dean tore his gaze away from Crowley and went back to slashing into the flesh of the helpless woman. The old Dean would have been curious to the deed that condemned the woman to Hell, damn, he probably would have asked for her name. The new Dean on the other hand, the new Dean didn't give a rats ass.  
"What if I say no?"  
"You become a good for nothing low-life, you'd be lucky to get a job working the crossroads" Crowley raised his eyebrows knowingly, he had worked his way up from low life, good for nothing crossroad demon status and look where was now: King of Hell. Dean didn't realise it but Crowley was trying to help him for once, trying to raise the perfect prodigy he'd always wanted. After all having Dean on his side would certainly be useful in the long run, the name Dean Winchester wasn't feared for nothing; a demonic Dean Winchester would surely add a little more spice to that mix. "You have a lot to learn, my friend. Hell works like your Government works but far less corrupt. I'm at the top, the King, if you will and under me are my torturers, the sins and the like and at the bottom are the crossroads demons, hellhound carers and the other bottom feeding scum" Dean's interest peaked, it seemed all the human blood Crowley had running through his veins had made him soft. Dean didn't intend to be pushed around by anyone, he didn't intend to answer to anyone either; maybe Crowley's offer could pave the way to greater things. It would certainly help out his plans. Dean flashed a smile at the expectant Crowley, bringing a blade down hard on the woman's thigh, ripping through layers of skin and muscle exposing a small slice of femur. Tears rolled down the woman's cheeks, coating her face in a thin layer of water that reflected what little light found its way into the depth of the torture chamber.  
"Something tells me we have a deal" Crowley grinned turning on his heels and strolling back down the never ending corridor of pain. Dean stayed. He raised the blade again, bringing it down heavily on the woman's shoulder severing her arm. The metal hook that had held the limb in place clanged back against its metal restraints, the limb falling dead to the floor. Blood spilled like a waterfall from the stump, the woman's screams now barely audible while she writhed in agony. Dean laughed, exposing his teeth in a half snarl before going back to work on his first victim.

Within an hour, Dean had learned the life story of his victim. Her name was Sharon Matthews and she was an assistant at a pharmacy down in Missouri, Montana. She had lived a pretty normal life, got married at 20 to her high school sweetheart, had two kids Lucas and Oscar and she had sold her soul to a crossroads demon at 24.  
"Tell me Sharon, was it worth it?" Dean gently run the edge of a knife over Sharon's stomach, blood rising and beginning to trickle out of the shallow slice "All this pain". Sharon let out a blood curdling scream as Dean brought the knife down again over the existing cut in her abdomen. "What exactly did you sell your soul for? Money? Drugs? A better pair of tits?"  
Sharon's voice shook, trembling as fear and pain wrecked through her body "My son!" Dean paused momentarily, cocking his head to one side as if considering her motives. "My son, he, he had leukaemia. I traded my soul for him, for him to be cured" Sharon's chest was raising and falling rapidly, sweat beating along her collar bone, mixing in with the trails of blood running down from her neck. Dean shook his head slightly before going back to removing chunks of the woman's skin. The old Dean would have empathised with her, comforted her and saved her indefinitely from the torture she was enduring, the new Dean felt nothing. Nothing at all. Her screams bounced down the corridor, accumulating with the screams of other awaiting prisoners working up to a crescendo of wailing. Dean made one last slash at Sharon's neck, slicing her throat. The blood of her jugular poured over her skin dyeing everything from the neck down a deep crimson. She choked for a few minutes trying to speak, the blood gurgling in the depths of her trachea preventing any words escaping as she used her final breath to make a low scream. Dean removed a dirty rag from his back pocket, using it to wipe the excess blood from his knife. A dirty knife didn't cut as well as a clean one, and the blood would soon congeal making it harder to remove. Sharon was nowhere ready to be taught how to torture, Dean knew that, a few more days of the rack; long days dragging out while his blade bit her flesh, followed by her inevitable death and a new day to start everything all over again. That would break her. It broke all of them. It had broken him.  
"You certainly do know how to make a girl scream" Dean turned around. A slender woman stood in front of him, her eyes a pale blue, long blonde hair cascading in loose curls down her shoulders, a wide smile painted on rose pink lips. She had her hands clasped behind her back, pushing her chest out while grinning towards Dean.  
"Do you want something?" Dean growled.  
"Don't you remember me, Dean?" The woman cooed. Her voice was high pitched and sickly sweet, like it had been lathered in honey. She crept slowly towards Dean, taking small, slow steps until she was standing toe to toe with him; her eyes peering up into his. She blinked, turning her eyes black. Dean looked down at her, the wheels in his head turning double time trying to figure out who the hell she was. "And we shared such an intimate moment" she grinned.  
"If you call grabbing a drink of holy water intimate" Dean chuckled "Lust"  
"I was worried you'd forgotten me" Lust winked, batting her eyelashes at the new and improved Dean Winchester. He was a demons wet dream and she was far from being untouched by his prowess.  
"Who could forget a girl like you" Dean finished cleaning the blood from his blade and dropped his rag on the floor. No bins in Hell. He turned his back on the demon and began walking down the corridor, he was still high off his latest kill and he wasn't hanging around long enough for it to wear off. Another victim to torture should do it for today. "I'm liking the new meat suit by the way" he flirted. Lust giggled behind him.  
"So if it isn't the great Dean Winchester, come to pay us a more permanent visit. Already pretty high up in our little hierarchy here now aren't you. Grand Torturer, Alistair would be turning in his grave, if he had one that is" A short man appeared in front of Dean stopping him dead in his tracks, his eyes where black, his voice overflowing with malice. He shot a wolfish grin toward him. Dean bristled in response, today was not a good day to annoy him; and then again any day was not a good day to annoy him.  
"Now, now Envy, we couldn't have you living up to your name sake could we?" A cloud of smoke convened into a figure. "Wrath" he held out hand for Dean, who shook it. "Nice to see you again on more...Equal terms" Dean made a grunt of some sort and pushed past the figure known as Wrath. He carried on walking down the corridor, basking in the screams of the damned.  
"They said there was big things planned for you"  
"How many of you fuckers are there?" Dean snarled his patience wearing thin. He'd always had a short temper, it seems some things don't change in the conversion to demonhood. He readied the first blade, he was about to send a message that he wasn't to be messed with.  
"You don't seem like much now, Dean" the disembodied Southern voice took form in front of him.  
"And you must be Sloth" Dean forced a smile. He knew the expression was unconvincing and he'd of liked to say that the thought was there but, it wasn't. Dean leant back slightly on his right foot, using his left shoulder to ram the blade into the stomach of the demon called Sloth. Sloth glowed orange for a second before collapsing into a heap on the floor. In the background he could hear a chorus of clapping, he turned seeing all three sins bringing their hands together repeatedly to conjure the noise.  
"Wow. You are going to be fun indeed" Lust smiled.

"Ah, Dean" Crowley lingered outside the small cell. Dean was laying on a makeshift bed, the wood creaking under his weight as he moved and jostled, the cloth ripped and ragged. Dean didn't mind too much, he'd never been the materialistic type. The cell had formally belonged to a 40 year old lawyer, traded his soul back in 1993 for a bit of extra cash; it must all seemed so stupid now. Dean had tortured the guy on the rack all day and hung him on the wall a little way down from the cell for good measure. If he listened closely, he could hear the guy babbling and screaming as more flesh dropped from his bones in the heat. "I see you've made yourself at home" Crowley strode into the cell standing beside an open vent exposing the inner workings of hell and the hell fire itself.  
"I didn't think you did individual demon visits" Dean flicked his eyebrows up "Or am I just that special now?" Dean had been in Hell for just over two years or there about, there is no real way to tell. No clocks in Hell and in all that time he had seen Crowley maybe once. He was sick of being stuck here already, Meg was right, hell was nothing but a prison made of flesh and fear even for demons. His skin crawled when he walked down the corridors of prisoners, the heat made him lethargic and irritable. He wanted out. The key around his neck burnt his chest, the metal heating along with everything else in the God forsaken wasteland. All he needed was an excuse for Crowley to not come after him. Maybe this was it.  
"No, actually I have a job for you. A house call let's say" Crowley worked the floor like he always did, his ego so large that Dean could barely breath. Dean swung his legs off the bed, leaning on his elbows peering up toward Crowley.  
"So..." Dean prodded "This house call you're sending me on?"  
"Yes. I need you to visit a guy upstairs, Malcolm Dent, out in Texas. I'm sure you're perfectly capable of bringing him in"  
"What happens if I don't?" Dean queried, anxious to press the boundaries of his new found position. A pain erupted in the pit of his stomach, not unlike the pain he had felt with his withdrawal to killing while burdened with his old human life. Blood festered, rising rapidly, his abdominal muscles contracting against the invisible force churning up his internal organs. Dean turned his face to the floor, spitting blood out of his mouth as is began to infest his oesophagus. Making a low growl, Dean made sure not to scream, he wouldn't be giving Crowley that pleasure.  
Crowley flashed a winning smile at Dean who was slowly regaining his composure "That is what happens, remember who's king here Dean". Dean stood up, squaring off his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height. Crowley lifted his hand as warning, he could bring about the pain just as easily as he had done before.  
"So where's this guy then?"  
"Dallas, Texas. This one needs taking a little early, he'd trying to welch on our deal"  
Dean tried and failed to hide his displeasure "On it..." Dean snarled "Boss" he added sarcastically. He headed for one of the many doors connecting Hell to Earth, all the way ruling the day that Crowley could no longer give him orders. He'd lived three years, Hell years and all that time he had hated taking orders from that piece of shit; Crowley the same guy he could have killed one hundred times over in his past life. He would be damned if he would live a life of servitude under him. Skulking down a darkened passage way, Dean caught Lust out of the corner of his eye.  
"Going somewhere big boy?" She cooed, strolling over to him and trailing a hand down his chest. He and Lust had become somewhat close over the last year or so, well, as close as demons could get. She'd watch him work from time to time, watch him tear apart those souls basking in their screaming. Occasionally, Dean would use her to taunt some of the more promiscuous guys; she was something after all.  
"Up top, on a recall job" Dean pulled the side of his mouth into a light smirk. Picking her up by the waist, he turned around placing her down behind him. "Now if you don't mind, I'm busy" Dean carried on walking toward the door at the end of the alley. Almost reaching it before she spoke again.  
"Fancy some company...It's been, oh, almost 300 years since I've been up top. I bet they're missing me" Dean grinned to himself as he walked through the door, Lust at his heels.


	3. Baby Winchester Is All Alone

The impala hummed, gently purring as it was spurred on further down the road. It felt like betrayal to Sam, sitting in the drivers seat of the impala without Dean; it was his brothers car. He'd always hated it personally. It was the constant reminder of the life he couldn't run away from, the life that striped away from him everything he had ever loved. First his mother, then Jessica, his dad was next and now his brother; everything was gone. He had nothing. Giving the steering wheel a sharp jerk to the left, forcing the impala to turn down a dirt track. He manoeuvred the car to face toward what appeared to be a large hill while he reached into his pocket and removed an electronic key. Clicking the little device with his thumb, Sam ducked back into the car as the hill began to open revealing a downward slope. The impala's engine idled forwards, rolling into the underground garage. He slid out of the drivers seat, collecting the paper bagged groceries from the passenger seat and entwining his fingers in between the cardboard of a six-pack. Slamming the door with his hip, he sloped up the stairs to the second floor of the bunker. Time was wasting away. He needed to find his brother. Throwing himself to a chair, he discarded the bagged groceries and loosened one of the bottles from the packaging, popping off the cap and taking a long gulp of the refreshing liquid. Assorted books littered the table, Sam had rummaged through every book case in the last week rifling through anything that may link to the mark of Cain and the curse of its forbearer. His search had turned up about fifty different books all dedicated to the subject. The stacks of leather bound books, towering as tall as Sam himself was a sight to make any bookworms head spin; still Sam opened the first book with determination and a small amount of alcohol fuelling him. It was certainly going to be a long night. Sam read until night fell, his eyes not reaching the middle of the first book before the day betrayed him and turned into night. He rubbed a wary hand on his brow, reaching for the last bottle in his six-pack that was already more than half drained. He tipped the remaining liquid down his throat.

_'And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it shall no longer yield to you its strength. You shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.'_

Sam read the bible verse aloud to himself. "Huh" he sighed "Lucky Dean was never much of a farmer" he spoke to nobody but himself. His eyes threatened to close on him, his vision blurring. The last few days were catching up on him now. He hadn't slept more than an hour a night and his body was close to shutting down now. He thought back to when he had gone more than a week and half without sleep when Lucifer had ensnared his mind and corrupted his thoughts. He only hoped whatever had been forsaken of Dean he wasn't being put through what Sam had been subjected to. Eyes closing. The writing on the pages in front of him becoming unreadable in his haze. Within a matter of seconds, Sam was snoring against an open book. Mouth ajar, he dreamed of his brothers death again that night. Just like he had done every single night since he had witnessed it.

Sam jolted awake. Splaying his hands out on the desk and pushing his back down while twisting his shoulders back stretching out his muscles from another restless and uncomfortable night sleep. Leafing through a few more pages, it was the growling of Sam's stomach that indicated it was time to do something other than read. Pushing the chair back, Sam neglected the groceries on the table, cooking wasn't on the top of his list right now and may be a drive would do him some good. Cracking the ache out in his spine, Sam padded back toward the garage. The impala took pride of place, surrounded by other various vintage cars. Still, she shone the brightest. Dean only ever cleaned the impala. Sam had always thought he had an unhealthy relationship with the car. At one point Dean had called it 'Baby' for a solid two months, refusing to talk to anyone but the car. Sam laughed to himself. He'd found it weird and frankly a little annoying at the time but, he'd kill to hear Dean babble incessantly about the impala now. Kill just to hear his voice. Slipping into the drivers seat of the car, Sam opened the garage door and let the impala roll out into the sweet afternoon air. The car's engine hummed, the old tune of a Metallica song mixing in with the soft roaring as Sam gently leant on the accelerator pushing the impala to 80mph. It was the diner that caught Sam's eye and made him pull over. The gravel crunched under the impala's tyres as Sam parked up. The diner lit up like a Christmas tree, if said Christmas tree had all but three of it's lights bust and mouldy tinsel littered along its branches. The air conditioning blew a welcome wave of cold air into Sam's face as he entered the small roadside diner. He threw himself heavily into one of the booths, leather squeaking under his jeans as he wriggled into a comfier position resting an arm on the back of the booth.  
"I'm Hannah, I'll be your waitress. You ready to order your drink?" A short, shapely woman smiled at Sam. The thick black frames of her glasses making her eyes seem inhumanly large, the little flecks of blue in otherwise dull grey eyes magnified behind the glass.  
"Yeah, uh, just a beer thanks"  
"Sure thing" Hannah smiled whisking away, returning with a beer moments later. Sam smiled as she placed it down in front of him.  
"Decided what you want to eat yet?" Sam paused momentarily. The normal Sam would have ordered something green and healthy. The Sam who was missing his brother, however, ordered the largest burger on the menu. Consider it an attempt at trying to connect with his brother. The food was presented to him about ten minutes later, the burger sat on the plate steaming in all its glory. Cheese dripped from either side of the meat and the sesame seeds seemed to have a faint golden glow about them. How Dean could chow down on this stuff all the time was astounding to Sam, regardless he took a bite anyway. Chewing and swallowing the meat, he rummaged around in a small rucksack he had taken to carrying around with him; fishing out the large book he had been reading from the night before. Laying it on the table and taking another large bite out of the burger he began reading again.

_'If__ anyone kills Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him, sevenfold...And to protect him, his own blade shall be the only thing able to strike him down'_

It took another two bites of burger and the fourth rereading of the sentence for it to sink in. Cain couldn't be killed with anything beside the first blade. May be his mark carried the same curse. Sam swallowed the last bite of his burger half chewed, stuffing the book back into his bag and leaving $20 cash on the table before leaving the diner. Scooting back into the impala, Sam knew what he had to do. He needed to find Cain. If anyone was going to know the things Sam wanted to learn it would be Cain. The only problem would be finding him.


	4. Bringing in the Goods

The End to Start the Beginning Bringing in the Goods

**Bringing in the Goods**

Dean Winchester inhaled deeply, the air he hauled into his lungs cool for once. His ribs felt as though he had just had a rouge ghoul give him the beat down of a life time. Stretching his shoulders back, the muscles gave little protest before loosening and unknotting. It turns out the gateway from Hell to Earth wasn't the Slip-n-Slide he'd hoped it would be. The sun hid behind a collection of greying clouds, the sky darkening by the second as darkness swept across the landscape devouring everything in sight. Dean had never really took the time to appreciate the darkness. He'd always thought of it as a pain in the ass, hiding the monsters and creatures that thirsted for his blood and flesh; the monsters that used to hunt and kill. Now, now Dean saw the darkness in a whole new light. The darkness allowed him to stay hidden, to creep unseen through town and cities stalking his prey. Tall reeds of meadow grass swayed in an almost non-existent breeze, Dean could hear the friction of grass moving against grass; another bonus of being a demon. Everything in the world had been heightened, his sense of smell and his hearing made the human senses look like nothing. He could hear a wild cat stalking through the grass almost half a mile away, its tiny paws crunching softly against the floor while it pressed its stomach to the floor in order to stay hidden. More interestingly, he could hear the poor unsuspecting mouse happily strolling along not a meter in front of the cats face. Dean marvelled in his new talents. Life was certainly going to be a whole lot more interesting now.

"Woo! That was fun" Lust yelled behind him. Her voice traveling softly on the breeze to his ears. She stretched, clasping her hands above her head and pushing her chest out toward Dean. He acknowledged her arrival and turned his attention back to the cat and its prey in the distant field. "So where to now handsome?" Lust strolled toward Dean, trailing a hand across from his left shoulder to his right; her fingers gently lingering on the skin of his neck for a moment before she let her hand drop back to her side.

"We follow my new pet" Dean placed his thumb and index finger in his mouth, making a low whistling noise. They could hear it coming before they saw it. Heavy padding, followed by a cloud of air erupting in the air signified its arrival. The beast, a mat of black fur, sat on its haunches in front of the pair cleaning its left paw. Its head reached Dean's hip, he reached down ruffling the animals ears; it growled softly in response indicating its distaste in being touched.

"You got yourself a hell hound?" Lust grinned, thinking twice before going to touch the creature herself. Dean shrugged a little, he didn't exactly acquire the hound of conventional means. He'd somewhat removed the dogs last master from the burden of living. Eyes glowing red, the hound looked up at Dean, awaiting its command.

"Malcolm Dent, go find him boy" With that the hound took off at a brisk trot, its long skeletal legs covering ground quickly and efficiently as it moved. Dean took off at a jog behind the creature, the hound picking up the pace once it was certain its master was in pursuit.

Dean had a knock worthy of a bailiff, the wooden door nearly giving way under his hammering.

"Will you wait just a minute?"

"Well at least he's home" Dean grinned. They were stood on the front porch of a small house, somewhere out in the suburbs of Dallas. It seemed like a nice enough neighbourhood, all freshly mown lawns and large red brick houses. Lust was stood behind Dean. Her hand resting atop the hounds head, the creature didn't seem to like the contact much but it sat still and silently regardless. The door opened. A tall man, his hair slicked back into a comb over, stood in the door way. The man wore a dark blue pinstriped suit, a three piece, must have cost a pretty penny. Of course the money wasn't really his, he had sold his soul for wealth only now he was trying to find a way to cheat himself out of the deal. Now Malcolm Dent was going to get what was coming to him.

"What do you want?" He snapped.

"I believe you have something belonging to us" Dean flashed him a smile, blinking and allowing his eyes to be consumed by blackness.

"No, no, no" The man stumbled backwards, murmuring profanities as he went "It's not time, I've still got another month" Dean ignored the man. Striding into his house, the hound at his side now its back arched, fur bristled. Malcolm fell backwards, his back connecting with the wooden floor making a bone crushing echo in the house.

"You see, my boss, he found out about your little plan. The one where you keep the money and your soul. And well..." Dean stopped advancing on the man. He had resorted to trying to crawl away, his back sliding flush against one of the magnolia walls, his feet still pawing at the ground trying to push himself further away from his oncoming fate. "He doesn't like it much, so he sent me"

"No, please. I have a wife...I have kids for God sake" Malcolm's pleader only excited Dean. The hound growling at his side, bearing its teeth and lifting its shoulders to attain its full height.

"Want to know something funny?" Dean snarled, he was squatting by the man now face inches away, black eyes staring into the pale green ones of Malcolm Dent. "I don't care" He growled in a half whisper. Dean could smell the fear. Malcolm reeked of it. He stood up again, backing off for a few steps allowing the man to relax a little against the wall. "Get him boy". The hound pounced. Pearl, white teeth dripping with blood as it released its jaws from around Malcolm's leg, he barely had time to scream out in agony before the leg was tore from his body. The animal attacked again, ignoring Malcolm's attempts to swat away the vicious onslaught. With a final scream of defiance, Malcolm's head tilted back his eyes rolling back into his head; his final breath leaving his body. Lust pushed past Dean, moving his arm to kneel beside the now dead body of Malcolm Dent. She placed a manicured hand on his chest, whispering inaudible words to herself. A light exploded from his chest, swirling around in the air in front of Lust's face. Slipping a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, she removed a small metal vile. It was a dull silver and closed by a cork, strange symbols and letters surrounding a larger symbol in the middle. Lust opened the vile, directing the light into it before closing the lid.

"One soul" Lust arced an eyebrow, handing the vile to Dean.

"One soul" Dean repeated walking from the house.

The trip back to Hell was no more comfortable than the trip to Earth. Dean stretched out his back again. The heat hit him like a fire truck, attempting to rip flesh from bone; the screams infesting his ears making him feel a whole lot more at home. Crowley was waiting for him at the door.

"Malcolm Dent" Dean announced handing over the vile, Crowley took it turning it over thrice in his hand before depositing it into the depths of his pocket. Lust appeared through the door a few seconds later, the hound along with her. Crowley furrowed his brow, anger etched on the lines in his forehead, his eyes burning slightly as he glared at Lust.

"Good job but, next time leave the dog at home" Crowley shot a look at Lust before disappearing.

15


End file.
